When There's Nothing Left to Burn
by Let Love In
Summary: "When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire." Gerald heads into a downward spiral after he breaks it off with Phoebe the summer before their senior year. But it's not for the reason she thinks. T for now, for maturity and language.


A/N: So I haven't updated in a really long time on this account, and I recently logged in to read some of the stories I uploaded. I actually have a good vision for this one, and I know I've uploaded it before but I'm definitely excited to continue this story. It's Phoebe/Gerald, which is a little different, but I've always enjoyed their relationship dynamic, and I think there's a lot of substance there. Anyway, here's the first chapter - I have uploaded this before, but I revamped it a little to fit my writing style now. Hope you all enjoy!

His eyes were closed, but it did nothing to take him away from that stuffy room. Her breath was a mixture of mint and coconut rum and he felt like vomiting every time she respired on his cheek. That faded red hair tickled his neck seductively, and in a normal situation this would make his hair rise erratically, eyes become glazed, legs rigid. It would turn him on. But it was the fact that he _knew_ her hair was red, her cheeks freckly, that he remained lucid and unmoving.

"Gerald," Lila whispered hoarsely into his ear. He held his breath, opened his eyes and stared into her drooping ones, and she smiled. Her teeth like a wolf's; bright and huge. With no response, she drooped a little on his lap, losing confidence in his seeming lack of interest. But her assurance quickly inflated. "Let's move somewhere more private."

It wasn't a question; it was a demand.

Looking past her, he stared at the other partygoers like they were characters in a movie. They were all laughing and dancing but he blocked them out because the one that mattered wasn't moving at all. Phoebe was standing alone, a hand nestled in her pocket and the other holding a drink that looked to have been drawn into the scene; it did not belong in her hand. She sipped it and coughed, staring into the cup and pondering its contents. Her eyes swiveled restlessly to all areas of the house besides his direction.

Lila caught his attention and suddenly his face was in her chest and she was laughing about how he was 'so drunk'. Her breasts spilled out of her shirt tastelessly, two freckly balloons that were filled too tightly with air. She had a scar on one, from her neck downward, disappearing in what he supposed he could call a shirt. He wondered where she got it, but he figured that was a story he would never hear.

"Did you hear me?" she asked. As if no one ever had to _think_ about going somewhere private with her. When did it become to casual for two teenagers to venture into a dark room, grasp at their clothes and fuck like it was going out of style? He pondered as he took a sip of the drink that was hiding behind her back.

She leaned in closer to him, her lips open just slightly as they curved at the edges. Involuntarily, his eyes closed as she moved forward, touching the tips of his mouth just barely. But his mind was far away.

Kissing Phoebe was like a dance. A slow dance… no, a ballet. Each move was carefully articulated and practiced; the way his mouth moved around hers, and the way they enveloped each other, was all so careful and precise, yet it felt effortless. Every slip of the tongue like a pirouette - controlled, but still beautiful. He could kiss her for days, and not care if he ran out of breath.

Kissing Lila was different. It was wild, uncontrollable and tasted stale, like beer and flavored liquors. They groped instead of touched, gnawed instead of nibbled, and everything was rushed when all he wanted to do was take his time. Her tongue stumbled lazily against his; their kiss was more of a clumsy tango where the dancers didn't know the steps, and instead squashed each other's toes. There was no leader, it was a free-for-all and Gerald wasn't into it.

But he couldn't stop himself. He pushed the thoughts of all the other guys she had kissed into the back of his mind, because it was easier that way. And he was drunk, and he was tired of it all, and something in the back of his mind told him it was okay. Just this once.

When Lila pulled away, she gave a flirty giggle but he paid no attention. Instead, he peered around her shoulder while she tickled his neck with her lips, surely making a trail of red marks as she went. He saw Arnold, sitting with Helga while she rested her head on his lap. He stroked her hair. In Gerald's mind, he could have been doing that exact same thing. Making believe that Lila was nibbling his throat out of love, not lust, was what kept him from shoving her away. And maybe they would fall in love like Arnold and Helga had, and one day he would be playing with her hair while she lay languidly in his lap, telling him stories because she cared to do so.

But instead, she looked at him with drooping eyes and asked, "So, did you hear me? Let's find a room."

"I," he began, his voice thick with dried saliva and alcohol. He coughed and continued, "I heard you."

She laughed again, her lips curling inward at the thought of rejection. "So…?"

All he could think about was that scar on her chest, and how he would never know where it came from. And how he knew that so many other guys had been in this spot, under her warm, inviting body, waiting for the 'ok' to take her to a private room. And how she used to be that sweet girl with fiery red braids and ever-so enchanting stories about a farm.

"Um, sure," he told her with uncertainty. Phoebe was still standing at the counter, this time looking a little "out of it" herself. Maybe she had too much to drink. She was making small talk with Sid, but her eyes still swiveled around the room with uncertainty. If he could get up quickly, maybe she wouldn't see him.

So Gerald swallowed his pride and pulled Lila from the couch, dragging her down a spare hallway, and stumbling lazily as he did so. Again she laughed, that sickening laugh that really didn't have much humor behind it. Once out of sight, Lila quickly regained control of the situation by pushing him up against the wall, wedging one of her thin legs between his and kissing him again, this time with more intensity. Her hands found his chest and he was just so done with it all that he didn't bother to push her into a room, instead he hugged her close and bit on her lip, causing a tiny yelp.

Her hands were hungrier than her lips as they slipped down, rubbing over his jeans, causing his eyes to snap open. This wasn't right. Sensing his sudden hesitation, Lila stopped what she was doing and looked at him with impatience.

"What?" she croaked, her voice thick with desire and exasperation.

"I… uh, don't feel good," he lied, grasping his stomach with one hand and pushing her a few inches away from him with the other. Lila's eyes turned into slits. She gave him an incredulous look, obviously not used to dealing with a guy who was this reluctant. With a toss of her hair, she sighed.

"Your loss," she whispered, her freckles dancing dizzily before his eyes as she took a step away from him. And with that, she was walking away with a strange sort of walk, one that was reserved for those who were intoxicated. By the time he snapped his mind out of its unruly haze, she had disappeared from the hallway. He headed back to the living room, hoping Phoebe was there, and hadn't seen his prior lapse of judgement.

He supposed that even she realized she was out of place, for she was nowhere to be seen. A full cup she held was sweating on the counter where she had been standing idly, like it was waiting for her return.

"Where's Phoebe?" he asked to Sid, who passed by him headed for the bathroom.

"I think she's walking home." Sid didn't seem to notice the yearning in the question.

Phoebe was different. Gerald knew about all of her scars, because she cared to tell him, because she loved him. Each one had it's own little story to it.

But she left and she most likely had no plans to return. So instead of sitting alone, he stood on wobbly feet, headed for the counter, and poured himself another shot.

A/N: Let me know what you think. Thanks!


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